


Listen (Night Is Beckoning)

by luninosity



Series: The Epic Universe of Porn, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, and Love [6]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Handcuffs, Kink Negotiation, Love, M/M, Past Abuse, Porn, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys, protective!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex toys, cuddling, hurt/comfort. Direct sequel to "Undarken The Night;" James really is fine, post-accident. They both just need to know that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen (Night Is Beckoning)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Eve 6’s “Open Road Song.”

He woke up annoyed with himself—he hadn’t meant to fall asleep; he’d meant to stay awake and watch over James always—but the annoyance eased away at the reassuring sight of James still curled up in his arms, warm and safe and very naked. The last rays of lowering sunlight fell lightly through the open window, considerately making halos out of the fluffy edges of all the hair piled up against his shoulder, and Michael listened to the familiar not-quite-snore that meant James was really truly sleeping, and didn’t let himself lean over to kiss the slightly parted lips, because then James would wake up.

James had said that he was tired. Had admitted that to Michael, if no one else. He shouldn’t have to wake up. He could stay here, trapping Michael’s very-asleep arm beneath him forever, if he needed to.

As if he’d heard that thought, James sighed in his sleep; Michael held him a little more tightly, with the arm that wasn’t pinned in place by warm weight, and whispered, “Shh,” and maybe that worked, because James wiggled a tiny bit closer, and then went quiet again. “Good,” Michael told him, still barely above a breath of sound, and watched the colors of sunset, where they splashed brightness beyond the window, reflected in the movement of slowly disappearing light across all the soft skin beside him.

The fringe of hair, curling up to play with the last of the sunbeams, really did look like a halo. He smiled, imagining James’s reaction to that particular comparison, and then stopped smiling, because haloes and angels were a little too close to the afterlife.

It’d only been a couple of hours, really, since they’d finally made it out of the shower and into bed, water-heated skin and damp hair and non-stop touching, still, always. And before the shower…

He wasn’t thinking about _before_ the shower. Couldn’t. That thought was just…unthinkable. No.

He might’ve accidentally squeezed James too hard, because he heard a startled squeak, possibly the most adorable sound in the universe and one that James would probably deny having made forever, and then blue eyes blinked up at him, through all the tumbling hair. “Since when did you become a boa constrictor in your sleep?”

“If I were a boa constrictor, I’d be planning to eat you, afterwards. How are you feeling?”

“Hmm. I can think of certain things you can—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence. Seriously, are you all right?”

“I think so, yes.” James breathed in, deeply, experimentally; Michael watched the movement of his bare chest, intently. James noticed him looking, and grinned. “Are you sure you don’t want to come here and practice swallowing things?”

“That’s possibly your worst pick-up line _ever_ …”

“Yes, but you’re already naked in bed with me. So I still win.”

Michael opened his mouth to answer, and then just looked at James for a second, lying there happy and amused and far too pleased with himself and _alive_ , under the dimming gleam of pale sunbeams, lazily enchanting the air around them.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. And you can stop worrying now. And then maybe we can have sex. Would you like to have sex with me now?”

“Okay, _that’s_ your worst pick-up line ever.”

“I—” That indignant response got cut off, as Michael lunged over and captured moving lips with his own, effectively ending any protest.

“Mmm…” James wrapped arms and legs around him, holding on with every single limb, and Michael contemplated briefly the idea that James would make a good octopus, and then felt fingers poke him in the ribs.

“Ow!”

“Why are you smiling at me?”

“Should I not smile at you?”

“Not like that, at this specific moment. Do I want to know what you were thinking about?”

“Um…probably not, no. Do we have—”

“The lube? It’s in the drawer, hang on…” James wriggled out from under him, and over to the side of the bed, and then paused. “Oh, no, it’s not, it’s in my jacket, from yesterday, when we—”

“I remember. Go on, then. I would—what was your line, again?—I would definitely like to have sex with you now.”

“Don’t mock my line,” James said, and hopped to his feet, “if you’re going to use it. Besides, it works. Clearly.”

Michael laughed. Watched him cross the room, and start back. Saw the smile, because James knew he was watching, and didn’t mind.

And then James coughed. Just once.

Michael stopped laughing instantly. “You—are you—”

“It was a random cough! I swear! Just dust! The dust hates me!”

“I one hundred percent don’t believe you!”

“That’s not—I wouldn’t lie to you, I promise—”

“No, you just don’t tell me things, like when you’re lighting yourself on fire—”

“That’s not fair, I didn’t expect that to happen—”

“—and I had to find out because Kevin sent a personal assistant to find me, and you were—you could’ve died!” He got up off the bed, too, because it was move or explode, and then loomed there over James, who scowled up at him, annoyed.

“I wasn’t going to die! I told you I was fine! I _am_ fine.”

“James, I am about two seconds away from bending you over the bed and spanking you until you promise never to go near anything potentially flammable again _in your fucking life_.”

James stared at him, eyes huge in the fading golden sunlight, and didn’t say anything. Just swallowed, after a second, and then, very slowly, leaned over the bed, and curled fingers into suddenly twisted sheets, holding on.

Michael took a ragged breath, and lifted one hand, and then really looked at him. At the tension in those usually graceful arms, and the tightly closed eyes. And then just rested the hand, gently, on the curve of one unmoving hip. “James…do you actually want this? Now?”

No answer, except a quiet, quick, little inhale, against the sheets; and Michael shook his head, even though James couldn’t see him from their respective positions. No. James was offering, of course, but wasn’t looking at him, and had stopped talking, and something just…wasn’t right. “Please look at me.”

James turned his head, and blinked, long eyelashes sweeping down like rainclouds, and then licked his lips, a small nervous flash of pink tongue that very nearly broke Michael’s heart. “I…don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Fuck. He thought it again, because he didn’t have any other words. _Fuck_. “James, no. Don’t—can you come here? Please.”

James sat up, eyes still in shadow, still slightly averted. But, when Michael sat down on the bed next to him, James leaned against him, and let their shoulders touch.

Outside, the sun drifted a little lower, painting the sky in shades of indigo and bronze. In the space around them, on the bed, the dying sunbeams caught tiny floating bits of lint, from the carpet, from the sheets, hovering mindlessly in the sudden airless silence.

After a minute, James said, softly, “I thought you wanted to…”

“I did. I do.” He couldn’t think of a way to explain it. It hadn’t been about anger. Just about the fact that James was here and breathing and Michael needed to feel all that living warmth under his touch, against his hands. To push them both until they felt as alive, in that moment, as anyone could possibly ever be.

“But you don’t. Not like this. Not if you think I’m seriously trying to—to hurt you. Or to punish you. You know—you have to know I would never—I love you, James. Always.”

James leaned a little more solidly against him, a little more comfortably, at that. “I know. I love you, too.”

They sat there, both still naked, and James put his head on Michael’s shoulder, all that improbable hair now dried into exuberant curls, and sighed. And the setting sun sent fading rays of ancient light into the hotel room, falling placidly across exposed skin.

“Interesting verb choice, there. Were you thinking that I needed you to punish me?”

“Be serious, please.”

“I am. I’m not opposed to the thought—”

“Not anywhere _near_ believing you.”

“—would you let me talk? I did mean that, but it’ll help if you let me explain.” James sighed again, the whisper of air caressing Michael’s skin, and then actually stopped leaning against him and sat up and made eye contact.

“I appreciate the concern. I do. And I’m glad you were there. But we can’t—we’re both going to get hurt, at some point, on some movie set. Accidents happen. Like today. And I’m not—I mean—” James paused, to grin, but the eyes stayed serious, where they rested on Michael’s own.

“I enjoy you wanting to spank me. Obviously. But it can’t be about something like this. Because what happened today _was_ an accident, and I’m going to go back on set and try it again tomorrow. And I’m not going to ask you not to do anything dangerous, ever, because I know that’s not a promise either of us can keep. So please don’t ask me that, either, because I don’t want to lie to you.”

“I know that, too.” Michael looked away, for just a second. Then back, at earnest blue eyes. Picked up the closest hand, and laced their fingers together, holding on. James squeezed his hand, still looking at him, quietly. “I’m sorry. I just—I was fucking terrified, James. When I saw you—I can’t lose you. I can’t. I keep thinking that it could’ve been worse, and you could’ve—what if you’d—I love you, you know. So damn much.”

“I know. I do know. I know how I’d feel, if it’d been you. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re this calm; I’m not sure I would be.”

“I’m not calm. Trust me.”

“Hmm. We could work out some of your stress, then, maybe?”

“Maybe…”

“Excellent.”

“Only if you want to. Really want to, I mean. Not just because you think I need some sort of outlet.  Or that you deserve it. Or—”

“But you still want to?”

“Yes?”

At which answer James squeezed his fingers again. And then smiled, slowly, the curve of those lips offering a suggestion all on their own. “I didn’t say I didn’t deserve it. You can. With your hand. Or something else. If you might still be in the mood.”

“You—”

“Not for almost getting hurt. For not wanting to tell you. I should’ve told you. I am sorry about that. Fair enough?”

“Yes.” Almost, hell. He'd been there, at least for the aftermath. He could still feel the pointed gnawing teeth of worry around his heart. But James was fine, he knew that too, and here, and apologizing, and here to apologize.

“So…”

“So… all right, then. Because you should have told me. And I love you. And I think…I think I want you over my lap, this time. I think you deserve that.”

Azure eyes rounded; he heard the slight pause before James took a breath, and wondered whether he’d crossed some sort of line, finally, with that one. Too much? Too intense?

But that smile edged its way back into view, surfacing out of the surprise, shining sand in the wake of a receding tide. “All right. Yes. Sir.”

“Christ, James.”

“Hmm?”

“You have no idea what you, saying that, makes me want to do to you, do you?”

“Oh…I might have some idea. Sir.”

“Come here _now_.”

James grinned at him, cheerfully unrepentant. “Yes, sir. How do you want to do this, then? I never have.”

“Hmm.” Michael contemplated the bed for a second. The sheets, still welcomingly crinkled from their earlier nap, beckoned. Outside, the sun slipped away, silently, and little silver dustings of stars emerged, captivated, from hiding.

“Edge of the bed? So you can—”

“Like this?”

Suddenly he had a warm and naked James stretched out across his lap, freckles twinkling in the starlight, and Michael ran a hand along his back and forgot to answer, distracted by the way James squirmed in response.

“ _Really_ no tickling.”

“I can spank you, but I can’t tickle you?”

“Yes. Exactly. Speaking of…”

“Don’t be impatient. Is this okay? Comfortable, I mean?”

“Is comfortable seriously the word you want to use? Considering upcoming events.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. And yes, I am. And I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Michael told him, and punctuated the words with movement, and the snap of his hand against pale skin echoed definitively around the room.

“Oh…”

“What?” That had been a surprised oh. And Michael’s still-shaky heart was not a fan of surprised sounds from James, at the moment. “Is this okay? Do you need—”

“No, I’m fine, everything’s fine, relax, please.” James, displaying impressive flexibility, twisted around to smile at him. “Just…different. Different position. Interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“More…helpless, I think? Or something. More yours. Less control. Does that make sense?”

“Maybe. Is that all right, for you?” He tried not to hold his breath. The newborn stars winked at them, beyond the window.

“Yes. Very much yes. You can’t tell?”

Instead of answering, Michael slid a hand in between those long legs, and found the hardness there, waiting for him. When he tightened fingers around that aching desire, James moaned softly, and pushed his hips forward, into the touch.

“I thought you wanted less control. Don’t move. Not even if you want to.”

“Hmm. What if I need to—”

“You’ll just have to behave for me.”

At which James breathed in, deeply, under the starlight. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, then. Do you want more? Tell me.”

“Yes, please.”

“More detail. What do you want me to do?”

“Oh…all right. I want you to spank me, please. More. Here, over your lap. Where I can’t move. Because I need to…be yours. Sir.”

“Oh, my god,” Michael said, astonished, because even though he’d asked the question he somehow still hadn’t been prepared for that answer, in that magnificent voice. And James made a noise that was suspiciously close to a laugh, and he couldn’t have that, so he brought the hand down a second time, and then again, until all the noises turned into little cries of want.

He watched James quiver in place for him, still trying hard not to move even though he was breathing rapidly now, smooth skin slowly turning red and hot under the cool gaze of the moon. And all that arousal was still present, impatient and tantalizing against Michael’s thigh, and on an impulse he shifted the leg, just a fraction of an inch, when his hand came down on burning freckles, and James whispered his name, consonants and vowels sliding out in breathless disarray. Perfect.

He walked fingers across the heat, carefully, testing the reaction; James seemed all right with that, with the lightness of the touch, for the moment.

“I want you to promise me something.”

“Really not a fair time to ask that…yes, probably, though. What am I promising?”

“Tell me that you’ll always tell me. When something—if there’s ever anything like this again. I know you were trying not to worry me. But I want you to worry me. All right?” He paused the hand. Rested his tingling palm on hot skin. James shivered, at the weight.

“I will. I would’ve told you, anyway, eventually. Just, you know, a bit later on, afterwards—hey! That one was harder.”

“Sorry. Too hard?”

“No.”

“You like that—harder, I mean—don’t you?” He was fairly certain the answer was yes; he watched the silken slide of hair along the sheets as James nodded, a prompt confirmation that made him grin, but he still wanted to hear it out loud. “Answer me, please.”

James was smiling, too; he could hear it in that spectacular voice, that accent all warm and thick and twisted up with desire. “Yes, I do. I like being able to feel you, after.”

“I like that, too.” Again. The heat settled into his hand, too, like it belonged there; he heard James moan, the sound half-muffled by crumpled sheets, holding the echo there protectively. “Still okay?”

“Yes, sir. I—”

“You what?” Very deliberately, he rested the barest edge of fingertips on pinkened skin, teasing, and got a small whimper of frustration as a reward. James clearly wanted to lift those hips, to push upward into his hand, and just as clearly was trying desperately not to, because Michael hadn’t said he could move.

Good. He wanted James desperate, for him. “You what, James?”

“I want you to—I need you to do it harder. So that I can feel you. Sir.”

Michael actually bit his lip at that, trying to distract himself, because if James said anything else they might end up being finished a lot sooner than he’d planned. The distraction helped, but not enough, because all that glorious skin was heating up under his hand and those words still hung in the air around them, hovering playfully in the chilly evening gloom.

“I don’t know…you did make me ask twice, you know…do you think you should get what you want?”

“Oh, fuck,” James said into the bed, genuinely startled, and for some reason Michael found that reaction absolutely hysterical, and had to fight with himself not to start laughing.

“Language, James…”

“Sorry!” At that they both _had_ to laugh.

“Oh, no…oh, I’m sorry, did I completely ruin the moment? It was a very nice moment.”

“ _Nice_?” This made James laugh again, still happily lying naked across his lap; the resulting friction provoked welcome evidence that the moment hadn’t been lost, after all. The stars, through the window, glinted approvingly. “And, no…you are still asking me for this, right? And you did say harder?”

“Yes. And yes. Please.”

“Well, then…you know you haven’t seen everything I bought, yet.”

“Oh, really? Did you have something in mind?”

“Yes. Um…hang on a second.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh. I mean…over the bed. Legs apart for me. And stay there until I’m ready for you.”

“Love you.” James slid off his lap and into position, cheerfully obedient. And then peeked over his shoulder as Michael got up, too, and found the familiar box in the closet. “Are you going to tell me?”

“I love you, too. Um…actually, you can turn around. I think some of this requires your participation.” Certain ideas had immediately presented themselves, but he hadn’t planned any of this in advance, so hopefully James would be okay with some improvisation.

The first thing, the one that he’d initially had in mind, he’d bought the day after all the interesting discoveries involving James’s belt. He’d decided that they both definitely approved of leather in certain cases, and he’d pictured the black lines of this particular paddle against that expanse of gold-dusted skin, and had been utterly powerless to say no.

Judging from his expression, James was also not planning to say no. He’d turned around the second Michael’d said he could, of course, and those expressive eyebrows, above sea-water eyes, went up, intrigued.

“Oh, that looks fun.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to sacrifice another belt.”

“It gave itself in a good cause. Anyway, I can still wear that belt. Just not in public, unless the public wants me to walk around thinking about having kinky sex with you all the time.”

“And that’s different from usual how?”

“True. Wait, something else? Oh, no, you really did buy—”

“You said you wanted them. Here, catch.” He tossed the fuzzy handcuffs to James, who plucked them neatly out of the air, and laughed. “I’m not sure I can take these seriously, you know. They’re… fluffy.”

“We probably don’t want you to wear these, anyway. They’re not that well padded; I checked.”

“ _You_ tried them on?”

“I just wanted to—I had to make sure that you wouldn’t—No, James. Seriously no. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“I really think I prefer them on you.”

“So do I, but you’re not even a bit curious?”

“Well…” To be honest, he’d been wondering, just a little. Mostly because James seemed so enthusiastic about them. But he was also enthusiastic about them on James.

“So you would!”

“Once. You can put them on me one time. Not this time. I already have plans for you.”

“And we do both enjoy you having plans. Next time, then.” James contemplated the fuzzy handcuffs for one more second, and then set them down, blue eyes dancing. “So, I’ve got a surprise for you. I was thinking of saving it for later, but since we seem to be on the subject…”

“You—”

“Well, you’re not the only one who can go shopping on the internet. Which is a fascinating image, by the way; I’ve been thinking about you thinking about what to buy for us ever since you mentioned it, and maybe next time we could—”

At least he was getting good at fishing out the important bits of those sometimes alarmingly endless sentences. “Wait. Are you saying you bought something? For us?”

“I might’ve, yes. I thought I’d wait until sometime when you weren’t expecting it, but now is a good time, too.”

“ _James_.”

“Michael?”

“What did you buy?”

“Um…can I go—”

“Yes!”

James bounced up from the bed, vanished into the closet, and re-emerged looking rather proud of himself. “I did think about the handcuff problem, you know, and then I saw these and I thought, well, we did seem to like leather, with my belt and everything—”

“You…you bought yourself wrist cuffs…” Michael stared at the curve of leather in those eloquent hands, black against the sweep of radiant freckles, and tried to remember how to form words. He was vaguely surprised he hadn’t spontaneously combusted. Right there. Standing next to the bed. Watching James grin at his reaction.

“I did, yes. Oh, hey!” James leaned over and twitched the length of the paddle out of Michael’s unresisting grip. “Look, they match!”

Only James could be excited by the fact, not that they’d each gone shopping for sex toys, but that they’d unknowingly coordinated. “Have I mentioned that I love you?”

“Yes, but you can certainly say it again.” James tipped his head to one side; the moonlight played hide-and-seek with rumpled hair. “Have you noticed, we both do seem to have an interest in me and black leather? I wonder if—”

“James?”

“Yes?”

“First, I love you. Second, I think you need to stop talking now. Because I’m going to put these on you. And then spank you. Among other things. Until you tell me that you can feel me, everywhere. Because you, and your interest in black leather, are all mine. Understand?”

He could see the sudden shift in those starlit eyes, the slow kindle of yielding warmth, even before James answered. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“Ah…can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“You mentioned…other things?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No. I want you to be surprised. You do trust me, right?” For a brief, heartstopping second, he wondered what he’d do if the answer turned out to be no. He couldn’t blame James if it was, of course. He could still remember the sound of rain, the expression in those bottomless eyes, when James had told him about that other person, about knives in the bedroom and sharp objects and breakable skin. He’d always remember that.

He’d stop this, stop everything, in a heartbeat, no matter how much he wanted more, if James needed him to.

But James wanted this. Wanted him. Trusted him.

Loved him.

“Of course I trust you! I love you.” James sounded indignant that Michael would have any doubt regarding the fact; the vehemence of that reply made them both smile, especially when James paused and then added, “sir,” belatedly.

“All right, then. Come here.” He studied James for a minute, silently, under the winter-bright spill of moonlight; James flushed, under the scrutiny, but stood there and let him look.

“You’re amazing, you know.”

“I am not.”

“No arguing.”

“I—”

Michael raised eyebrows at him, and, without warning, brought one hand down across that visibly pink spot, just at the delectable curve of that ass. The blue eyes got a little wider, but James didn’t move, and even smiled, a tiny upward flicker of lips through night air.

“Amazing. And mine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He did it again, just to make James gasp, beneath the starlight. Definitely, inarguably, amazing.

“Now that we’ve established that…hands behind your back.”

“Oh…really? That’s…different.”

“You did say you wanted less control…” Michael watched him, carefully, for any signs of tension, while moving to fasten brand-new cuffs across golden freckles; James shook hair out of his eyes, and presented both wrists calmly, apparently unperturbed by the new position.

“I suppose I did.” James breathed in, a single inhale, when Michael ran one finger along the smooth skin inside his arm, beside the edge of leather, connecting the scattered bits of gold.

“Still okay?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then…something else, too. Don’t move.”

“You bought a—is that actually a—”

“It is, yes.” Michael stared at James staring at the cock ring in his hands, the silver of it glinting happily up at them. “Is that okay?” God, he hoped so. That’d been one of the mental images he’d had ever since discovering, staring continually at, and finally purchasing the damn thing.

“Ye-es…you really did buy everything, didn’t you?”

“I told you I did. That wasn’t a very convincing yes. Are you sure?”

“Sorry! Yes. I am. I was just trying to picture that, er, on. On me. Which I’d guess you have been, too.” James licked his lower lip again, thoughtfully; Michael waited, trying hard not to be worried yet, for the rest of that thought. “Um. Is it because—you don’t trust me to wait, to not come, if you tell me to—”

“No! No. I know you can. Of course I know that. Honestly, I just want to see it on you.”

“Ah. Go ahead, then.” James smiled at him again, through the gleam of starlight, and Michael leaned down to kiss him, claiming that smile with his own lips and tongue and teeth until James ended up breathless, thoroughly reassured and happy.

And then knelt down—which earned a confused blink and a “Wait, why are you—” and curled one hand around the base of James’s cock and then pulled James into his mouth. He hadn’t really planned to—he’d meant to just lock the elegant curve of metal into place—but James was right there and tasted wonderful and made a little whimpering sound as Michael licked that inviting tip, and so he just couldn’t help himself.

When he employed the barest suggestion of teeth, remembering the response that’d gotten on the previous occasion and letting the motion become just a bit rougher, James whimpered again. And then tried to lean towards Michael more closely, and, because those muscular arms were still pinned behind his back, almost lost his balance.

Michael paused. Looked up at him. James looked back, panting, hair tumbling into wide eyes because he couldn’t push it away, cheeks pink, lips parted. Perfect.

“I’m starting to think you might need this after all. Didn’t I tell you not to move?”

“Um…I think I forgot. Sorry. Or not sorry, depending on what your plans are.” James grinned. “You did say you had plans.”

Instead of answering out loud, Michael flicked metal into place; they both watched as he clicked the thin ring shut, the line of silver nestled there at the base of James’s cock like the embodiment of temptation. Decadent. Delicious.

He leaned forward and stroked his tongue over all that hard desire, one more time, just because he could, before he got up. James moaned softly, frustrated at the sudden absence of warmth. Good.

“Back over the bed, then. Like this.”

The eyes got quite a bit wider, but no protest was forthcoming, even when Michael put a hand between his shoulders and pushed him downward, gently, and James caught his breath at the suddenly very real discovery that he had no fingers with which to cling to the bed for balance.

“Still all right?”

“Yes…” When James blinked, the unfairly long eyelashes tangled themselves into the sheets. “I mean. Yes. Sir.”

And Michael grinned, inwardly, and then ran a hand over the closest hip, touching lingering handprints, seeing the muscles in those bound arms tense at the sensation. “More?”

“Yes.”

Time to enact some of those plans, then. The moonlight lay across the onyx surface of the paddle in tangible invitation. And Michael definitely felt like accepting.

The first impact made James gasp, into the sheets. Michael stopped to look at him; James said, half-obscured by an interfering fold of cotton, “Go on, please, more…” and Michael breathed again and watched James shiver and move, helplessly, at the next one, leather cracking across defenseless skin. The lines, left behind on all that paleness, glowed under the cool illumination of the stars.

Without hands, James couldn’t quite hold himself still; his hips lifted with each collision, the force pushing him into the bed, and Michael listened to him panting, uneven breaths that told him exactly how badly James wanted this, how close he was to completely losing control.

“James?”

“…yes, sir?” Even when he waited, giving both of them a moment to recover, he could see James quivering, all over, with the lurking ghosts of sensation, with want, with expectation.

“You did say you wanted things…harder, didn’t you? That you trust me to do this?”

“Yes, you know the answer to that, why—”

“And…you did agree that you deserve this? We said I could…you said you weren’t opposed to…whatever I wanted to do, as punishment for you not wanting to tell me about certain things, right?”

“Oh, my god…”

“Not an answer, James.” Michael rested the warm leather of the paddle on hot skin. Turned it, so that the thin edge cut across newly-formed marks, and traced a new line over redness. James made a different noise, this time.

“Too much?”

“No…still good. You’re good. And yes. Yes, you can. Please. Anything. Yours.” James was still breathing rapidly, quick little inhales of starlight falling through those lips; Michael leaned over to kiss him, tasting cold night air and softness and a faint whisper of soap, from earlier, an aching reminder of how close he might’ve come to losing everything.

“I love you, you know.”

The brush of those lips, against his own, now felt slightly surprised, but not uncomprehending. “I know. I love you, too. Always.”

Michael shut his eyes, for just a second, and let the words warm up all the icy night air around them.

And then heard James add, “When you said _whatever_ you wanted to do, did you actually have something in mind…?” and opened his eyes to find that bright blueness smiling at him.

“Oh, now you’re just asking for it.”

“I thought I _was_.”

Michael let out a little huff of amusement, at that, and then caught a tiny hint of satisfaction in the sapphire gaze. Of course James knew exactly what to say, at that moment, to make him laugh. Of course.

So clearly he needed to demonstrate his appreciation in return. In a particularly unmistakable way.

“Stay put, then.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly planning to move.”

Michael opened his mouth, closed it, contemplated the paddle for a second, and then just used his hand. And didn’t stop until he’d left James gratifyingly speechless, and his own palm tingling. “Was that what you wanted?”

 “Mmm….yes.”

“All right, then. I’ll tell you one more time. Stay here.”

“Yes, sir.”

At least he knew exactly where to find what he was hunting for; he made it back to the edge of the bed in less than a minute, and then spent a second just looking at James, at the tangled white sheets, black leather still holding those wrists together for him above all that reddened skin, handprints and marks like searing mementos of fragility, of trust, of skin and bones and the heartbeat that said, to his own, _alive_.

And the moon, outside, reached in to pour clear light down over both of them, binding them together, luminous as a promise.

This time James didn’t move, waiting obediently, but he did sigh, a sound almost like relief, when Michael walked fingers carefully across scorching curves and found that waiting crinkle of muscle, pink and tight and hot. He’d collected the lube, along with something else, and when he pushed the first finger inside, slowly but insistently, James moaned his name into the bed.

James was probably expecting sex about now. And sex was, very emphatically, going to happen. Just not yet.

He took his time, opening James up for him, listening to all the little cries and pants as the tightness relaxed around exploring fingers, watching James’s own hands, behind his back, tense into abrupt stillness when he found a certain spot. “Good?”

James tried to say yes, and Michael moved the fingers again, and the yes trailed off into very satisfactory whimpers. “Good. So…you asked whether I had anything in mind. I do.”

“Oh…you…do that again…wait, what?”

“You heard me.” And then, while James was obviously still trying to come up with a response, he slid the fingers away, and nudged the vibrator into their place. Not James’s smaller vibrator. The large one.

They’d not used it in a while, after all. He’d decided that now would be an appropriate time. Besides, he had very fond memories of the last time.

James said his name again, sounding a little astonished.

“Did you need something?”

“I—you—yes, please, yes—”

“More?” Not that he’d stopped—he’d been working the thick black length of it deeper, slowly, while talking—but he wanted to hear James say it.

James, once again proving that he was perfect in every conceivable way, turned his head just enough to peek back at Michael, a hint of warm blue eyes under curling and sweat-damp hair. “Yes, sir.”

Michael bit his lip, hoped he had enough self-control left to not erupt on the spot, and slid the rest of it home, in one smooth motion, and then flicked it on, while James was still shocked into silence by the sudden fullness. And James cried out, into the sheets, and Michael thought suddenly about hotel rooms and the thinness of walls, and then decided that he didn’t care, because he wanted to hear that sound again, forever.

“Can I—I need to—” James was begging him, finally, shaking against the bed, that splendid voice all blurry with desperation, incredible accent and drawn-out desire stretching the words almost out of recognition, and Michael pressed a hand between his legs and stroked his cock, fingers tracing the line of metal around the base, and James tried to scream but ran out of air.

“Please…”

“No. You did agree to let me do whatever I wanted, you know.”

“Michael—”

“I want you to count,” Michael told him, and picked up the paddle again.

_“What?”_

“This is the part that counts as you being punished, James.”

“You—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Only four. All right?”

“Oh, fuck …”

“After. I promise. So…all right?”

“…all right, yes. Sir.”

“Good.” He tried not to make the first one too hard; James was already trembling.

“One…” The moonlight skittered across all the freckles, cool against hot skin, as those hips twitched at the impact.

“Okay?”

“Yes…you don’t have to ask each time, you know…I’m fine.”

Fine was probably not the most accurate word, considering the way James was shaking, but Michael decided to take the statement as the reassurance it was meant to be. More, then.

“Two,” James breathed, and then, “three,” and that one came with a tiny groan, because he’d accidentally done it harder, caught off-guard by the mesmerizing sight of freckles in motion, under the silver light.

“James?”

James didn’t say anything for a second, and then, slowly, as if searching for words, “Yes, sir?”

“You—”

“You said…one more…right?”

Michael swallowed, hard. One more. The snap of it, hot and sudden, echoed around the room and flew out the window, to dance giddily with the moon.

James whispered, “Four,” and Michael tossed the paddle away, moved a hand over all that newly-tender redness, and heard the answering small sound, almost a sob. “Please…”

“Do you want me to—”

“Yes. I want _you_. In me.”

“Okay.” He flipped the vibrator off—James shivered, head to toe, and almost fell off the bed, at the sudden change in sensation—and slid it out, and then fit himself there, instead, positioned between those spread legs, waiting for him under the distant light of the sky. The scattered irregular trail of freckles along the inside of one thigh coaxed him on, alluringly.

So he inched forward, slowly, in part because he was still trying to make things last, and in part because, somewhere deep down, he still found himself awestruck by this, by all of it, by everything that James offered to him, freely, without hesitation. By James, loving him.

Speaking of, James had become a little too silent, once he’d started moving.

“James? Still here?”

James moaned in reply, not even trying to form words, apparently just incoherent now, and Michael pushed a little deeper into all that welcoming wetness, and felt abused muscles flutter and yield to the new penetration.

“James? Can I—” No, wait; that needed to not be a question. No space left for either of them to doubt.

“I’m going to fuck you now. Like this.” He put a hand around one wrist, over all the body-warmed leather, and tugged still-bound and unresisting arms a little higher, demonstrating which one of them was still in charge. Heard James make that extraordinary noise again, somewhere between a scream and a sob.

When he moved, he felt the heat of all those stinging impacts meet his own skin, and when he thrust all the way in, all the way home, into that space still stretched and slick from the earlier invasion and waiting for him now, they both sighed, almost in unison.

“Mine,” he said, very softly, and then, “I love you,” and then thrust again, and again, feeling James tremble continuously under him, and when he moved fingers, testing, James’s cock slipped through them slickly, leaking with need, over his hand, onto the bed beneath them, so hard it had to hurt when Michael pressed one finger into the dripping slit at the top.

James gasped, and the burning hips jerked upward, and at that Michael realized that he wasn’t in charge after all, because that sound, that movement, _James_ , could still make him lose every bit of control, and he pushed faster, deeper, harder, because he couldn’t stop, and all that heat was too much, overwhelming, and when James moaned again the sound reached all the way down to his cock, and then he was falling over that precipice, filling James up with it, claiming him, reminding them both that James was his, and here, and real.

Dimly, through the aftershocks, he heard the sharp little pants of James breathing, broken tiny quests for air, and he forced his fingers to work just enough and flicked open the cruel small line of metal that had been holding James on that brilliant edge, and leaned forward, pinning James between the bed and his own weight, and demanded, “ _Now_.”

And felt James tense all over, every muscle tight as a drawn bowstring, and then collapse under him, release spilling out in long-awaited pulses over the sheets, against his skin, across Michael’s hand, still wrapped around his cock.

And then he didn’t move, not even when Michael whispered his name.

He tried again, concerned now. “James? Can you—are you all right? Can you say something?”

Still utter silence; but one hand curved up, slightly, and tapped at the restraints.

“Oh—fuck, sorry, I’m sorry, here—” He tugged off the cuffs. Tossed them to one side, where the moonlight gathered them up in cozy shimmers.

James moved the arms, very slowly, as if testing them. Curled one of them around his head, face buried in the sprinkle of freckles at one elbow. He was shaking, a little; Michael suddenly couldn’t quite breathe.

“James, please. Please say something. Did I—I love you, please don’t—” Don’t be hurt. Don’t be in pain. Don’t let me have hurt you. The shine from the distant stars, outside, dove through the window and straight into his chest and skewered his heart like frozen daggers.

“I’m…all right. I think. Just…give me a second, though…”

Talking. James could still talk. James still wanted to talk to him. A few of the sharper knife-points dissolved back into harmless starshine.

Michael eased out of him, very gingerly, trying not to rub too harshly against sensitized flesh, and then flung both arms around James as, deprived of support, the long legs crumpled toward the carpet. “Here, I’ve got you…”

He set James on the bed, as tenderly as he could, and then caught a glimpse of damp eyelashes and tear-tracked cheeks, and froze, shocked, even as James glanced hastily away.

“James?”

“It’s not…you didn’t hurt me, I promise, it’s not that…”

“You’re fucking crying, aren’t you? I _did_ hurt you, you can’t say—”

“No, you didn’t.” James rolled over, flinched slightly as sore skin encountered wrinkled sheets, and then reached up and pulled Michael down beside him, calmly ignoring the profanity and all the sudden tension in the room. “I would’ve stopped you. Honestly. You didn’t do anything I didn’t like.”

“But—”

“It was just…” A slight pause, during which James hunted for words and Michael wrestled with the horrified desire to have a heart attack, or throw himself off the hotel balcony, or anything that would make James not have needed to cry.

“It was intense. You—me being that close, for that long—and then finally—and maybe it did hurt, a little bit, at the end—I think you couldn’t help that part being, um, rougher, when you finished, I mean?—but not in a bad way. Like…satisfaction, I think. Fulfillment, or something. Good, anyway.”

“But I still made you cry.”

James shook his head, and then stopped the motion, so that they lay there face to face in the night, and the summer-sea eyes met Michael’s across the serene whiteness of the shared pillowcase, still shining too brightly but offering certainty as well, assurances that Michael tried as hard as he could to believe. “You made me…not be in control. Which I wanted. Which we both wanted. Me, being yours. All of me. And apparently that comes with some tears. Sorry.”

“You—please don’t apologize to me. You did say I was too rough, though? I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. Actually, I don’t think I cared, at that particular moment. And still don’t. Still love you.”

“I love you, too. Always. And I’m sorry. I am sorry.” He might be sorry always, too.

But James shook his head again, starlight flickering through all the sweat-dark hair, and then smiled. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, neither are you. You were fantastic; I told you. You _are_ fantastic. I want this. I want you.”

“You,” Michael said again, because he’d completely run out of words, and then put both arms around James and just held him, attempting not to register the terrifying presence of saltwater against his face when James blinked. Attempting to be calm, because James had asked him to understand. The moonlight curled up around them, comfortingly, too.

After a while, he told the closest moonbeam, carefully, “I don’t think I’m okay with making you cry.” He’d tried. He couldn’t be.

James shifted positions, in his arms, just enough to make eye contact. The moonbeam settled down into his hair again, after. “All right.”

“All right?”

“Yes. All right. I don’t mind—no, really, I don’t, don’t look at me like that—but we’re not doing anything that makes _you_ uncomfortable, either. I love you. So, all right.”

“I love you, too.” He still didn’t have any other words. Just those.

“I’ll try to tell you before—if we might be getting to that point. But, um. I might not always know. In which case I’m sorry preemptively. And—”

“James…”

“—and if I promise to try to tell you, you have to promise to try not to mind if I can’t help it. Deal?”

“Yes?” The tension in the room, and in his chest, was easing away, bit by bit, leaving behind only faraway starfire and encouraging closeness. Because James _could_ still talk to him, wanted to talk about this with him, had agreed to the unspoken request, despite not minding on his own behalf. Because they could still do this. Together.

And James said “Yes, then,” the answer unambiguously stamped on the air through all the silvery light and velvet darkness, and then kissed him, firmly, unhesitating and sincere and just slightly salt-flavored and obviously happy. Michael kissed him back, a little slowly because he was still marveling at how damn lucky he was, amazement that he must’ve accidentally voiced aloud, because James actually started laughing. “No, it’s the other way around, I am, I have you!”

“Mmm…no.”

“Yes,” James announced, definitively, and then added, thoughtfully, “I might need to shower again. You know, if I could stand up.”

Michael tried not to wince. He wasn’t certain he succeeded. “I can—can I help?”

“Please do. You know how much I like you naked in the shower.”

“In a few minutes, then. You should—don’t move yet.”

“Wasn’t planning to.” James rested his head on Michael’s chest; the enthusiastic hair spread out gleeful tendrils in all directions, which tickled. Michael chose not to mention this fact. “I can hear your heartbeat from here, you know.”

“That’s…logical. Anatomically speaking. James?”

“Yes?”

Michael set fingers, gently, on the inside of one bare wrist, next to three gilded freckles like the points of a miniature triangle. Told him, “I can feel yours, too.” And James looked at him, understanding all the unsaid words, and smiled.

And when they breathed in, under the glittering hush of the night, they breathed in unison.


End file.
